


I Got New Rules

by ChloeStranges (SheriffsLop)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Michelle Jones, Hurt Peter, M/M, Multi, Out of Character Michelle Jones, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Villain Quentin Beck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-02 20:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsLop/pseuds/ChloeStranges





	1. *•.¸💊 thє unєхpєctєd rєturn 💊¸.•*

July Fourteenth, Two - Thousand Twenty - Three

Twelve Twenty - Six in the Afternoon

🍰 

Warren tied his bangs into a tiny ponytail as he watched the Black Forest Cake batter mix in the mixing bowl.

"Mama, do you want me to start on the gingerbread dough too?" Warren asked.

"Ja, Warren, my dear. We need more gingerbread dough, we have almost ran out of our gingerbread loaves," his mother called from the front counter.

Warren looked at his phone to see that it was buzzing. He slid his phone from the pocket of his apron to see his reminder, " Take your T Shot, Stupidass! " He let off a laugh considering he remembered to take it this morning while he was reading the positive sticky notes he stuck to his mirror.

"Is that the Peter Parker kid?" His mother asked.

"No, it was just my reminder for my testosterone shot," Warren replied.

"I wish you wouldn't talk so much to that boy. I saw the news, and listened to what Mister Mysterio said," His mom began.

"Mama, Peter is a good guy. You know that, you've met him!" Warren said.

"People are not always who they say they are, Warren. Peter is a nice boy, but that doesn't mean he always did the right thing behind your back," His mother said.

Warren simply sighed. Peter is a good friend, and his mother didn't understand. She wasn't there to see the kind of man Quentin Beck is. She wasn't there to witness the fake, manipulative, gas - lighting monster that man was. She only saw the heroic, brave, kind - hearted façade he pretended to be. Peter is a good person, and within one day, the friendly, neighborhood Spider - Man's reputation was obliterated.

Peter basically saved Warren's life, after Quentin kidnapped Warren and took him to the tower bridge. Peter came in and untied Warren before Warren became Quentin's permenant don in distress. Warren was a genius, but he was no Dwayne ' The Rock ' Johnson. He was sure if he hit Quentin, Quentin would laugh before breaking both of Warren's hands. Peter had the equipment and skill that Warren did not ( Or wasn't able to use at the time ).

Warren began to find the ingredients for the gingerbread loaves and laid them onto the stainless steel counter. He checked on the cake batter before realizing all of the ingredients to the batter were homogenous.

Warren placed the measuring cups on the table before hearing the bakery door bell ring. He looked to see a silhouette of a man across the front counter.

"Mister Beck! Oh my goodness, I am so honored to have you in my bakery; wh - what brings you here?" Warren's mother exclaimed. "Oh, Warren would be so glad to see his knight in shining armor again. He's in the back; I can go get him."

Warren rounded the corner and he couldn't believe his eyes. It was him, in the flesh. It was actually him. Warren's heart began to beat against his chest, and he attempted to back into the kitchen, but it was too late. He already saw him.

"Warren, you never told me you worked in a bakery," Quentin said.

Warren held a baking sheet to his chest as he inched to the end of the table in the back. He knew he had to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to kick that man in his stupid head again, and again, until he heard the satisfying crack of his neck.

Warren's mother gave Warren a smile, before raising her eyebrows and glancing to Quentin, signifying that Warren needed to go and greet him.

Warren's hands trembled as he set the baking sheet back onto the counter. The sight of this man made him sick and nervous. He was doing so well with his anxiety, he hadn't even shivered in two months. Warren could see in the reflection on the counter that his skin had paled at least two shades brighter.

Warren approached the counter and placed his hands on the counter before forcing himself to smile. His lips hurt as they turned up. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back. He finally figured a simple hello would suffice.

"Hey Quentin," Warren said.

Warren's mother nudged Warren in the hips before her eyes flicked to Quentin again. She let off a hum, and Warren knew that meant that he needed to actually go out there angled greet him.

Warren's smile faltered for a minute, before he walked around the front counter. He still kept the fake grin plastered upon his face, before going in to hug him. It was going to be a short hug, at least, that's what Warren had planned on.

Quentin's arms went under Warren's and he picked Warren up for a hug.

Warren's face was buried in his neck and he couldn't help but to let out a squeal. He wanted to be put down right then and there, but he knew his mom would let him hear it afterwards for being ' rude '. Warren felt Quentin's warm breath upon his neck and the goosebumps began to form down his arms, back, and legs.

"Warren, I've missed you. I can't believe Peter Parker held you captive! I'm just glad you're alive," Quentin said.

"Peter didn't hold me captive. You did, you fucker," Warren thought, though he wanted to scream it as loud as he could.

"Well, actually, I escaped. H - His webs aren't that strong," Warren said. "I mean, it's a rather unstable form of cyranoacrylate, so people can get out of it super easy."

"Oh, Warren, honey. You know I saved you, you don't have to hide it from your, rather lovely, mother," Quentin said.

Honey. That nickname made Warren want to throw up his own stomach then proceed to shove scissors into his ear canals. He always liked the ones Peter gave him; Graham The Science Man, Ren, Grahams - Cracker. Those were cool nicknames, and they had thought behind them.

' Honey ' was just sickening. It was awful. Well, maybe it wasn't the name that frustrated Warren, but the fact that it was coming from Quentin Beck.

At least Quentin had allowed for Warren to be set down on his feet, though his hand was still on Warren's shoulder.

"Mister Beck, was there something you came for? I can get started on any specific request right away," Warren's mother said.

"I just wanted to see my dear Warren. I haven't been able to sleep, not knowing if he was okay after the Tower Bridge incident," Quentin said.

After the Tower Bridge incident - Warren wanted to scoff. He was fine . . . was. He was doing fine until Quentin came through the front door. Warren thought that Quentin was dead, then that meant Warren wouldn't have to see him again. Warren never wanted to see him again.

"Well, if you were so concerned about me; why didn't you ask earlier?" Warren asked. "I mean, I could have used the . . . words of . . . comfort . . . a few days ago."

There, that would have to throw a curveball in his speech. No, it wasn't good enough.

"I would've if I could've, honey. I was out cold for a few days, but you were the first person I thought about when I woke," Quentin said. "I knew I needed to check on you in person, so I could see your handsome face again."

Warren pushed Quentin's hand off of his shoulder before heading back to the counter door. He continued to force himself to smile, because soon it would be over.

"Well, I better get back to baking, y'know. Bread doesn't bake itself," Warren joked.

Warren let off a soft, yet awkward laugh. He began to raise the door so he could head back to the kitchen.

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to dinner and a movie. We could watch whatever you want in the movies, and eat whatever you want," Quentin offered. "If that's alright with you, Missus . . ."

"Please, Mister Beck, call me Leone. I would be happy to let Warren off for the rest of the day - It would be my honor to let my son be seen with you," Warren's mother said.

Warren gasped and knew he had to think fast. He didn't want to go anywhere with Quentin Beck. He barely even wanted to be seen in public with the man. He already had anxiety, and the fact that the paparazzi would be taking pictures of ' New York's Newest Savior ' and Warren would only make it worse.

"But, Mama, you were going to teach me how to make Sauerbraten meatballs today!" Warren exclaimed.

"Oh, I can teach you tomorrow! That is if Mister Beck doesn't ask for you back out until then," Warren's mom replied.

"Well, Missus Leone, my heart constantly longs for Warren. I might have to just take him from you some day," Quentin teased.

It didn't sound like a tease, considering that he's already attempted to keep Warren all to himself. Warren let off another faint laugh.

"But, I really wanted to learn today," Warren said.

"Oh, no, you can go with Mister Beck, my dear. I know you'll have so much fun with him, rather than staying at home with your Mama, making meatballs," Warren's mom commented.

There was no way out of this. Warren had to go on this stupidass date, even though he would rather do absolutely anything else.

"Well, I . . . uhm, I need to get dressed. I'll be right down," Warren said.

He went through the kitchen door that lead to the top level of the building where he and his parents lived. He could just climb out the window and escape to Peter and May's, but his family will end up finding him. Then he would have to sit through a lecture about being around Peter . . . again. He didn't know what was worse; hearing his family bash the reputation of his friend, or going on a date with Quentin Beck, because his family was obsessed with the fact that he's had ' superhero ( if you could even classify Quentin as one ) bae status '.

He gulped as he finally reached his bedroom door. His eyes looked back towards the window. Now was his opportunity to make a break for it. Warren walked to the window and lifted it open. His foot stepped outside onto the platform leading to the metal balcony.

"Warren, Mister Beck is waiting for - What are you doing?"

It was his mother.

Warren got out of the window and slid the window back down before turning to face his mother.

"I thought I heard a baby bird outside. I was just hearing things though," Warren replied.

"Oh, how sweet, but you need to hurry. You cannot keep him waiting like this," his mom replied.

Warren nodded and opened his bedroom door. He shut the door behind him and slid his back against the door, before sitting on the floor. Warren let off a sigh as he looked at his desk that sat in front of him. Warren stood from the floor and walked to his closet.

He slid his closet door open, and looked at his outfits he organized on the hooks. What would be the outfit that would reveal his identity the least? Maybe if he wore his reading glasses too, it would obstruct his face more.

Warren pulled out a white t - shirt, with stonewashed jeans, a crocheted jacket, and tan, velvet boots. He walked to his bed, stripping himself from his apron, tank top, and shorts. He swapped his old outfit for the new one he pulled out of his closet.

Warren went to his desk and picked up his reading glasses before wiping the lenses with his shirt. He slid them onto his face and rustled his own hair before looking at himself in the mirror.

He was actually going through with this. He almost had a taste of freedom, but that was taken from him too. He took his phone off the charger, and decided to text Peter, in order to relieve himself of some of the stress.

"Hey, guess who's going on a date with Q. Beck?" Warren messaged.

He put his phone into his pocket, before walking out of his room and going back downstairs.

His mother was talking up a storm with Quentin, about how amazing Warren is, and praising Quentin for saving her darling son over and over again.

If only she knew the truth.

Warren walked outside the counter before meeting Quentin on the other side.

"Oh, honey, you're out!" Quentin exclaimed.

Warren said nothing, though he nodded.

"I hope you two have fun on your date. Please, take all the time you need, just let me know when you'll be coming home," his mom said.

Warren nodded again. He just wanted to get this dumb date over with so he can lay in his bed and listen to Chemistry podcasts ( though he always ended up criticizing the podcasters' knowledge on the subject ).

Quentin put his arm around Warren's shoulders, before waving goodbye to Warren's mom.

"We'll see you later, Missus Leone, I promise to have Warren back home by ten," Quentin said.

He lead Warren out of the bakery and into the back of a Range Rover.

Warren slid to the furthest side of the Range Rover, before pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Eww, your mom is letting you actually go out with him? I didn't even think he was still alive after we got off of Tower Bridge,"

It was Peter.

"Imagine my surprise when he walked through the bakery door and he actually asked my mom -"

"Who are you texting?" Quentin asked.

Warren wanted to tell him that he was texting Peter. He knew that would piss him off, and yet that was the exact reason he couldn't tell him. Warren did think that seeing Quentin get pissed that Warren didn't like him woukd be hilariously satisfying, but he didn't want to deal with the repercussions.

"Just my English partner. We were working on a posterboard for ' The Great Gatsby ' and how it can tie into the theme of hope," Warren lied.

Thank god he wasn't wearing the E.D.I.T.H glasses that Peter had so foolishly given to him. Warren was pretty sure that Peter took them back, too. 

If Quentin had been wearing those glasses, Warren would have been more royally fucked than he already was.


	2. *•.¸💊 nєvєr nσt вє αfrαíd 💊¸.•*

July Fourteenth, Two - Thousand Twenty - Three

Twelve Fifty - Eight In The Afternoon

🍋

"So I was on Yelp, and I found a high rated Italian place in the area. How do you feel about Italian?" Quentin asked. "I'm sure they'll let us in for free, considering I'm New York's hero."

How could he just talk to Warren like Warren didn't know who he was? Warren knew exactly who he was, and it was horrifying that nobody else except for Peter, M.J, Ned, himself, and possibly Betty Brant knew. He didn't deserve all of the praise, even more so that none of the things he fought against were actually real threats. The biggest threat to New York was it's own superhero.

If something incredibly powerful actually came to harm the planet; The God - Sent Mysterio would be shaking in his boots. Peter fought off an army of bad guys on a whole other planet ( Even though he had help ). Peter should be allowed to get into the movies for free, but now he couldn't even walk out in public without being harassed.

At least they always met on the metal balcony that Warren tried to escape from. The summer basically crashed around them as soon as they came back.

Peter and M.J had to break up because M.J's parents didn't want her to hang around Peter anymore. Warren's balcony was a safe space for the both of them. It seemed they only had eachother and Ned anymore. Even then, Ned was told to stay away from Peter.

"Italian's fine, I guess," Warren said.

"You guess? Then you obviously don't want to go to the Italian place. Fine, do you have any other bright ideas?" Quentin asked.

Venom coated his words, just the way they used to before Warren was temporarily saved. Warren didn't want his family to be pissed off at him, so he began to frantically nod.

"N - No! I mean, it's fine! I'll be fine with Italian," Warren said. "I - It was a great suggestion. I mean, if it's high rated, it must be better than McDonald's."

Quentin gave Warren a smile and put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder. 

Warren's skin formed goosebumps and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. If he could, he would have already broken both of Quentin's arms and used them to beat his stupid face in. Warren could only fantasize about that.

"Italian it is," Quentin said.

"Yeah. Italian's good," Warren followed.

He would rather be at McDonald's with Peter, Ned, and M.J than go to a fancy Italian place with Quentin Beck. At least they could chase eachother around the Playplace before getting kicked out for being whole ass teenagers on kids' play equipment. Warren just had to sit and stare at his menu before focusing his attention elsewhere.

They arrived at the Italian place, and Warren couldn't really read the sign without butchering the name, " Il Buongustaio ".

Quentin opened the door and helped Warren get out of the Range Rover, before people began taking out their phones on the patio and taking pictures of Quentin and Warren.

Warren used his jacket and hid his face with the hood as they qalked inside.

Quentin was waving and sucking in all the attention that was being given to him. He let off soft greetings to the amateur photographers.

Warren was sure that their picture would be all over social media within the next few minutes, and Warren would get a notification from Flash's new Mysterio fan account on Instagram that Mysterio had a partner.

Sure enough, Warren's phone let off an alert that Flash was live streaming.

"Oh, Mister Mysterio, it is such a pleasure to have you in our restaurant!" The hostess exclaimed.

"It's a pleasure being here; say, do you have private seating? I'm sure myself and this handsome man right here wouldn't want to be bothered so much during out lunch," Quentin said.

"Of course, you can go to our balcony seating. I promise nobody would be able to bother you up there," She said. "It's reserved for the important people that come here, you can get the best view of the sun and the clouds outside."

"That sounds perfect, thank you," Quentin replied.

He took Warren by the hand and they followed the hostess up a flight of stairs to a small room, overseeing the restaurant and a large window, which indeed allow for them to see the weather outside.

The hostess placed the menus on the table and flipped the wine glasses right side up.

"Your waiter will be right with you two," The hostess said before heading back down the stairs.

Quentin picked up the wine menu and offered it to Warren.

Warren felt the back of his sweater cling to him, but he knew he couldn't take his jacket off. He didn't trust what Quentin was doing. One rule he learned from his sister, Rosie, is to always watch your drink. He didn't know if Quentin already manipulated someone to slip something into Warren's drink.

"N - No, thank you. I'm too young, I don't want us to get in trouble," Warren said.

"We won't, besides, I'm sure you've thought about drinking a few times in your life," Quentin said.

"Not really," Warren said.

"Snuck a sip from your parents' liquor cabinet?" Quentin asked.

"No," Warren replied.

Warren has drank alcohol before, but it's normally a celebratory drink during parties, or going back to Germany for Oktoberfest . . . and Quentin Beck was nowhere in the vicinity. He was surrounded by people he loved and trusted in those occasions; right now, he was not. He was alone.

"I think I'll be okay with just water," Warren said.

"Well, what wine would you recommend?" Quentin asked.

"Well, I'm more of a beer guy myself," Warren said.

"So, you have drank before?" Quentin asked.

"Under parental supervision, and I've never had more than a bottle of draft beer or a shot of Jäger," Warren said. "I don't really like drinking. It messes with my head too much."

"Don't young people enjoy drinking behind their parents' backs?" Quentin asked.

"Not this one," Warren replied.

Warren analyzed the menu, seeing they had something called lasagna bites. It was fried lasagna squares, which honestly didn't sound too bad.

"Can we get some lasagna bites?" Warren asked.

"We can get anything you want, honey," Quentin said.

"You don't have to call me that," Warren said.

"I know, but I want to, therefore, I do," Quentin explained.

Warren knew he couldn't act out, period. His parents would be so disappointed in him if he was a jerk to ' New York's Greatest Hero '. He was so tired of listening to his mom's endless lectures about the choices Warren has made in his life, and he already had a rather rocky relationship with his dad. He simply couldn't risk anymore chances of fighting with his parents.

A young waiter came out an elevator door before walking to the table.

"Hello, Mister Mysterio! I hope you're having an amazing day, and who's this fine drink of wine over here?" The waiter asked.

"Warren," Warren said.

"Nice name for a handsome man," the waiter said.

Warren did have to smile. He actually passed as male. Well, it wasn't a rare occurrence anymore, but each day Warren had that someone referred to him as ' Sir ', or ' Mister Grahamsfield ', or ' A Handsome, Young Man ' was always a tiny victory for him.

"What can I get you two for today?" The waiter asked.

"Uh, water is fine, but can I get a plate of those lasagna bites, please?" Warren asked.

"Water and lasagna bites; and for you, Mister Mysterio?" The waiter asked.

"Pinot Noir," Quentin said.

Warren began to think; maybe alcohol would make this date a lot easier . . . no, he couldn't let his guard down. He needed to stay alert, which was also why he left his Xanax at home. While the result of not having his medication on him could be awful, he always felt more vigilant when his mind was racing.

The waiter wrote Quentin's order down on the note pad.

"I'll be right back with your orders," the waiter said.

The waiter rushed back to the elevator before heading back to the kitchen.

"You don't seem like you're having a good time," Quentin said.

"I'm not," Warren thought.

He wanted to be anywhere but here. He just wanted to be with Peter, eating Dampfnudeln on the metal balcony while watching the city behind them. He had to pretend like he was enjoying himself, for the sake of his parents.

"Oh, I'm having a great time. I just have a lot on my mind," Warren said.

Warren's palm clammed up as he felt Quentin rest his hand upon Warren's. His fingers began to tremble and quiver in Quentin's hand.

Their skins contrasted in feel.

Warren's hand, while his fingernails are bitten up and his cuticles are dry messes, were soft, and delicate. His touch was never strong, and he was always careful.

Quentin's were much larger than Warren's. His fingertips were rough, much like leather. His grip on Warren's hand was firm, and though it hurt, Warren managed to get through it.

"You know you can tell me," Quentin said.

Warren couldn't help but to allow a few tears fall from his eyes. Normally his mom or his sister would accompany him on dates, because they didn't want Warren to actually be up to no good.

Usually, Warren would be frustrated, like any autonomic, young person would be. This time, he would kill to have his mom or Rosie sitting a few seats away. He wanted to go home.

"I miss my sister," Warren said. "She doesn't come around as often since she got married."

Quentin gave a sympathetic smile, or at least it seemed sympathetic. This man knew how to use his words and behavior to get whatever he wanted. He succeeded on Peter, the entire state of New York, Nick Fury, and even Warren himself.

His smile really struck a nauseatingly familiar chord in Warren. It remimded him of a time that Warren did actually like Quentin.

It was a bad time for Warren, after learning that Peter wanted to finally ask M.J to go out with him, even though Warren was just beginning to like him too. Warren was just too late.

He and Ned had a plan to be bachelors in Europe, but that didn't work out, since Ned got into a really short lived relationship with Betty Brant.

It felt like love was swarming around a rather loveless Warren. Warren began to feel like he was alone, so he decided to lend some of his expertise to S.H.I.E.L.D, since Peter let him in on the fact that Agent Fury had hijacked their summer vacation. This allowed for Warren to put his ' Professor Dynamite ' skills to test.

After allowing for them to use the new chemical technology to fight against the Elementals, Warren was attempting to head back to the opera house.

He was soon stopped by the Fire elemental on the way back, and be didn't have his chemist gloves on. Warren was rendered powerless, and he began to run, before he was swooped up into a mysterious man's arms.

He was tall, and incredibly dreamy. It was like true love had snuck up on him. All they needed was Lionel Richie's ' Hello ' playing in the background.

This man was rugged, with a beard that most men would envy and brown hair that Warren just wanted to run his fingers through. Warren could swim forever in his blue eyes while sipping on a peach tea. His body was firm against Warren's frail one. He was absolutely perfect in every way.

That man was Quentin Beck.

Warren hated the smile. It reminded him of a time that there was hope for this man, it reminded him of a naïve Warren. He wasn't that kid anymore. He actually pushed that suit he wore to the opera to the furthest point in his closet, so he would never be reminded of how much of an idiot he used to be. He never wanted to be reminded of what happened in Europe, ever again. The memories of that trip were crushed down as far as they could go.

Warren is German. It's what they do best. He knew to keep all his emotions bottled up, and then one day, he'll die. It's what everyone in his family did.

Well, Warren does see a psychiatrist, but that's different. As soon as he left the office, it was back to the same mentality of ' Sit Down, Shut Up, And Smile '. He also takes his Xanax to calm his nerves. No, that isn't how Xanax is supposed to be used and no, Warren does not care if that's not how it's supposed to be used. He was also a Chemistry genius; he knew what he was doing and how it interacts with his body.

The waiter came back with the pitcher of water, as well as an unopened bottle of Pinot Noir. He grabbed a corkscrew from his apron before aligning it with the cork and twisting it into the dense wood before pulling it out. He poured Quentin his glass of Pinot.

Warren's right eye twitched lightly as he watched the liquid flow into the glass. It looked like blood . . . blood. Warren stared at his hands, a flash of red appearing on his fingertips for a brief second. He blinked away the image before seeing the water be poured into his own glass.

The waiter brought out his notepad once again.

"Are you two ready to order?" He asked.

Warren flipped to the meal selection of the menu. He looked and saw a chicken Alfredo dish, and decided to settle on that.

"I'll have the cheese raviolis," Quentin said.

The waiter wrote it down on the notepad before looking to Warren.

"And for you, sir?"

"The chicken alfredo, please," Warren said.

The waiter collected the menus from the both of them.

"We'll have the lasagna bites out in a few moments, and soon after, your dinners will be on their way as well," the waiter said.

He walked back to the elevator, leaving the two men alone once again.


End file.
